


Dishonest and Disloyal

by ValentinaEscobar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentinaEscobar/pseuds/ValentinaEscobar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For no love come out of the blue. This is the story of Sherlock Holmes and his beloved girl-next-door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

                Those streets were once nothing more than just bushes and trees not long ago. In a sense, they still are, despite those neoclassical mansions here and there. Trees made the night darker than it really is by blocking the full moon's light, which worked just fine for the moment. The figure was pushing its motorcycle for half a block now down the wet road, still wearing the helmet. The rain from couple hours ago made it difficult to break so the biker decided it was better to go on foot for some meters, it was more discreet. Not that anyone would pay attention at that time of the evening.

                It parked the bike, and reclined on it. The figure took of its boots and left it on the ground. The asphalt felt very humid and it was cold enough to make the toes turn purple. From the jacket pocket, it took a pair of what seemed really flexible and clothe-made sneaker and some gloves. The biker put those on, left the keys in the ignition and strode towards a mansion nearby.

                That shadow stopped near a side window and with the help of a piece of a really thin metal, it forced that window open. It crawled into the house, specifically into the spacious kitchen. Very clean, very fancy. Must have been a fortune to build, the trespasser thought. It  walked past the door and sighed heavily, as if leaving even the air of its lungs behind, before tiptoeing its way down the corridor.

                Except for the faint moonlight coming through the windows, everything was dark. But for the biker, it was harder to see because it left the helmet on.  It was crawling under the windows, avoiding the clearer areas, for it was an obvious place to put a security camera. So like that, moving in the shadows, it reached the last door, its destination. Luckily, the moon's trajectory and the time allowed the figure to stand up in front the door, since there was some shadow there. The heartbeat of this individual started to raise as it reached for what seemed a tiny, homemade electroshock machine. Once having plugged the machine's wires around the lock and the door knob, it reached for two lock picking instruments, for it would not have much time. The machine activated and the door made an electrical sound. As quickly as possible, the biker started to lock pick the door and in some seconds it was inside the room, just enough time to close the door before it made a 'click'. It was closed again.

                Now is just a matter of finding what it came for. The room was an office, with a spectacular oak desk around the middle, back to three windows. It started searching inside the drawers and the shadow found all kinds of stuff: jewellery, naked pictures of some people, some cash. Of course, it shoved all those in the inside pocket of its jacket. But that was not what it was looking for and the time was running short.

                Until it looked under the desk and found the treasure: a plastic bag, full of official documents. More precisely, from the British government, concerning security. An old  trick from an old man, as was the owner of that house. The biker chuckled with those papers in hand, and before leaving  it scanned the room.

                That will certainly call attention. They may even call Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Multiple Meetings

                In a city as big as London,  it’s amazing how you always run into exactly the same people. But this is getting ridiculous.

                In the morning, Dr John Watson went to buy groceries, nothing out of the ordinary for a rather strange fridge. Apparently, he and his flatmate decided to leave at least some space for food there. Well, more like John said it and Sherlock didn't say anything about it, but it's already a start. His friend was in one of those moments when he would only communicate through the violin, sometimes not even that, which is can be in equal dose a relief and absolutely annoying.

                And, as usual, he and the machine weren't getting along very well. People in the market already got used to the guy who would fight the machine every now and then. John was getting rather impatient when he felt a slight touch on his left shoulder.

                "I'm sorry, sir, do you mind if I try?"

                "I'm so sorry, it's what? Third time in the month? You guys must be tired of me doing this every week." John responded with a smirk full of relief to see that girl.

                "Well, I don't really work here, so I can just pretend you've never done it before. It's our little secret." The girl gave a soft smile that showed the dimples on her cheeks and squeezed her way between John and the vending machine. Instead of trying to pay it again, like most of the market staff did, she started to type rapidly. Without turning around, she showed the palm of her hand to John, demanding his card, which he complied. Not a minute later, she was done.

                "Now just pay normally. You may notice I gave you a 5£ discount for having to pass through this every week." She seemed really satisfied with herself.

                "I...Well...Thank you" John was amused with this sandy-blonde girl that came out of nowhere to help him. "Let me pay for that sandwich of yours, then."

                "That would be great, thank you."

                They both got out of the store, John put his bags in the floor. He was grateful for being helped in that bloody store. She seemed really happy with that sandwich, too, since she was devouring it.

                He offered his hand and straighted his back, as to seem more imponent. "I'm John Watson. Thank you so much."

                She took his hand and shook it, still halfway a bite. "Vivienne Lewis"

                The silence that followed was getting awkward, so the doctor decided that was his lead. They said goodbye and he walked back to Baker Street.

                When he got there, Sherlock was at the kitchen table, dealing with one of his microscopes. He did not turn when John arrived. Instead, he asked:

                "Trouble with the vending machine?"

                John got used to it by now. The incident with the young lady caused him getting in really good mood, so there was no surprise when before he even answered his friend Sherlock was already speculating in front of him. He turned his attention to John and walked to him while the other one was trying to store the recently bought goods.

                "You're joyful. You're never joyful when you go to the store. It's not something about the vending machine or you'd be satisfied, at best. No, you met someone, a girl, I'd say middle to late twenties, blond, wavy hair, rather pretty for your standards.  But you did not asked her out, not yet, not even got her number. Maybe just her name?"

                John got impatient and his whole happy moment disappeared by the time Sherlock finished his deductions. He took a breath to answer his inquiry and was interrupted by him. Again. How he detested it.

                "Never mind, she's not that into you. I'm going to the morgue, they finished the autopsy, are you coming?"

How he hated his damn curiosity.

***

                John was grabbing coffee. It was going to be a long day, for Sherlock decided to insult every single technician in the hospital and was going to run test labs himself, searching for God knows what to prove the aunt murdered the man. Who knows for how long Molly will put up with him. In the cafeteria, he was a figure that was no strange to him: plaid skirt, a jumper, boots. He recognised Vivienne grabbing coffee herself there.

                "What a coincidence" He said, approaching her. The woman got a little confused for a split of second and then recognised him as well. Welcomed him with a friendly expression.

                "Indeed" She got her coffee. Tall. "Are you following me, sir?"

                John got caught offguard on this one. He could only think how stupid of him getting to her like this. "NO, no , nononono, not at all." He was ashamed.

                "I'm just kidding." She showed him a table, so they could sit. After properly accommodated, they started to chat. A pleasant talk really, mostly her asking about him.

                "So, what about you? I assume you don't come here just for the coffee"

                "Family. I have a relative who is here. We just got here from Cornwall." She looked down to herself. "I haven't even changed."

                "Where are you staying?" He immediately noticed how invasive he sound. "If you don't mind asking"

                "At a family's friend. She was very kind."

His phone rang. A text. From Sherlock.

'Come down to the lab. We got a case'

                John sighed. He did not even said anything to her. She just waved to him.

                "Go on. See you around, John."

                He did not even get to the lab and Sherlock was already leaving. On the way to the exit, the taller one explained the case.

                " Four break ins. Not a single clue. No camera got the thief, no one noticed him, not a strand of hair, nothing.  But this time, it made a mistake. " Sherlock was getting excited as he spoke. They were both in the cab going to the crime scene.

                "Which was?"

                "Rain."

                Lestrade was already waiting outside the mansion. He explained the case again as they entered it.

                "The same way the others. There were security cameras in every single room and not a one of those captured the robber. The office was sealed with an electronic lock, impossible to break in, and the window was opened. We assume it came from this side of the house and got in directly to this room." Lestrade stopped in front of the duo when they just entered the said office. "Honestly Sherlock, what are we doing here?"

                "Wait, so..." John was puzzled. "You didn't gave us this case?"

                "This is not even mine. I got to call a few favours to get you here." The policeman was talking to the doctor now, while the detective examined the room. "He looked into the papers in the lab and immediately demanded to look at the crime scene. But I see nothing out of the ordinary."

                "Of course you don't, you're a moron." Sherlock faced them now. "Four robberies, three of them from people in the government, two from the MI6, and you think it's just a coincidence?" He was getting over himself. "You are not paying attention? Someone is breaching the security. We got ourselves a spy. Or at least a very-well informed thief."

                "How do you know they are MI6?" John crossed his arms

                "Who do you know has an electronic lock except banks? There was something of value here, more than just a couple of rings" Sherlock got down the desk. "And it was here. The wood is dry, but underneath it is slightly humid. The thief's hands were here." He walked to the corridor. "As is the floor here. It crawled its way from the kitchen to the office here." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. He has that look into his eyes. That fire, the excitement of a interesting case. The game was definitely on. "I want the files of all unsolved robberies to high class home in London in the last year delivered to my address, as well as a list of all employees of the victims."  Sherlock and John were on their way to the street when Sherlock turned to him. "I need you to go back to Barts, John."

                "Why?"

                "I left a undergoing experiment there, if you catch this cab here, you might get there before it blows up. Please, take note of your impressions of it"

                "Wait, of what?!"

                "The explosion, of course!".

***

                "What are you doing here?" It was getting strange rather than completely ridiculous. John got out of the cab to see, guess what, Vivienne again. This time, outside his home with three bags with her.

                "I may ask you the same, doctor Watson." They were way too suspicious now to be friendly. Both held a neutral expression.

                "I live here. You're outside my home"

                She took a piece of paper from her skirt pocket, read it and looked around. "But... This is the address she gave me... I suppose you don't know Mrs. Hudson?"

                The door opened, it was the old, adorable landlady. She enthusiastically hugged Vivienne, surprised how beautiful she became, and John, could you please help bringing the luggage, thank you dear. Once inside, she finally presented each other.

                "This is Vivienne, her mother is an old friend of mine, she will be staying with me." She turned to the girl now. "And this is Dr. John Watson, he and his friend live upstairs."

                "We met outside, Mrs. Hudson." John smirked to Vivienne, like it was an inside joke.

                They all went to the 221b, to find Sherlock flipping through police reports. "Sherlock, dear" Mrs. Hudson started, "This is..."

                "Vivienne Lewis, old family friend" He extended his hand to her. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. I suppose my friend John don't need your number no more."

                "I believe not, Mr. Holmes." She took it. "Tell me, how well does the lab door did?"

                "Wait, what? How do you...?" John was more confused than he has already been on this day.

                "I've made a few experiments of those when I was younger. Of course, in a much smaller scale."

                "A juvenile record, I suppose." Sherlock seemed please to see someone understood what he tried to do. That was a rare thing.

                " I was not that successful." She said, playful. "Just got my parents worried."

                "Oh dear," Mrs Hudson clasped her hands together, "I think you will all get along just fine."


End file.
